For a Mother's Sins (29 page)

‘Aye, that’s what he said, so we might as well take the lot, rather than leave it for some rough buggers that’d not appreciate it.’ Molly was busy taking down the chintz
curtains. She’d always made fun of them when Rose was alive, but secretly she had admired them. She had been so jealous of Rose’s frills and fancies.

‘Look at these doilies, Mam. When will we ever use all this stuff?’ Lizzie was loving every moment of ransacking the hut. After the tragedies of the past week, it was a bit of
much-needed brightness.

‘Stick them in the sheet, Liz, then we’ll bundle it all up and carry it home. I think we’re going to have to make two journeys with it all. At least if John regrets moving, his
stuff will be safe with us.’

Molly hummed a song while she placed everything in the double sheet that she’d brought from home. She was going to have the poshest hut in the shantytown. How things had changed. Now all
she needed was a proper home, and she was already thinking of a scheme for that. There was no way she was going back to Bradford when the railway line was finished. It might be wild and rugged at
Ribblehead but she loved it, especially on blue-sky days like the last few had been.

‘How about we have a ride on the train down to Settle on Saturday? I think I can just about manage the fare – it can be an early birthday treat,’ said Molly in a moment of
madness, the home improvements going to her head.

‘Mam! Mam! Do you mean it, can we really go on a proper train? It’s a lot of money.’

‘Why not? I don’t know about you, but I could do with a break from all this depression. We had some more cases of smallpox admitted this morning. It makes you realize that
life’s too short to worry about money. We should enjoy ourselves while we can.’ Molly tied the curtains back and looked around her now cosy home. She just prayed that neither she nor
Lizzie would catch the disfiguring disease. At least these days they were better fed than they had been a year ago. That would give them a better chance of fighting off the disease, though the
scars the disease left on the faces of its victims filled Molly with almost as much fear as death itself. She gave a shudder at the thought.

No, whatever the expense, they should make the most of life while they had the chance. Who knew what the future held?

Helen Parker glared with hatred at her husband, drunk behind the bar. He hadn’t shed a single tear at the death of his daughter, in fact, he’d seemed quite
relieved. But then again, since the baby was no doubt his, it must have come as a huge relief that he’d be spared the shame of exposure. Helen had gone alone to the hospital to see her
daughter’s body in the morgue. Then she’d come home, beside herself with grief, only for him to kick and punch her because his supper wasn’t on the table.

And now he was carrying on like he was cock of the walk, accepting drinks from customers who wanted to extend their sympathy. There wouldn’t be much sympathy for him when the truth came
out. Nobody had time for a man who had sex with his own daughter. And Helen was seeing to it that the truth about Henry Parker came leaking out with every pint she served. He was already hated for
short-changing the navvies and charging extortionate interest on loans, but that would be as nothing compared to the hatred they’d feel once they knew what he’d done to Florrie.

It wouldn’t be long now. The silent code of the navvies would see to it that justice would be done. Henry Parker would get his comeuppance, all right. All Helen had to do was wait.

The steam engine stood alongside the platform, water dripping from its pipes and steam like the breath of a dragon puffing out of its chimney and engine. The driver wiped his
sweaty brow with a coal-dusted cap and blew the whistle as he watched the first passengers from Ribblehead board his pride and joy.

‘All aboard!’ the newly appointed stationmaster shouted loud and clear, strutting like a prize cockerel as he herded the people on to the carriages, slamming shut the open-windowed
doors. Then he blew a long blast on his whistle and waved his flag, and the train was off. As the first passenger service made its way down the Ribble Valley, he felt as if he would burst with
pride. Then he turned to admire his future home, a gothic building adorned with the Midland Railway emblem. He couldn’t wait for the roof to be finished so that he could show off their new
residence to his wife and young family. He smiled and checked his pocket watch. With a few hours to go before the train returned, he’d have plenty of time to start planning their new
garden.

‘Oh, Mam, I can’t believe it – us on a brand-new train.’ Lizzie giggled as she tried to hold on to her shawl as they walked along the corridor, looking
in each compartment to see who was in it and if there was room for them.

Molly stopped outside a nearly empty compartment and turned the brass handle on the door.‘In here, Lizzie – there’s only a man reading a paper in this one.’ The train
jolted as she opened the door, almost making her lose her balance, and Lizzie tumbled in and collapsed on the seat beside her. They both slumped giggling on to the patterned upholstery, causing the
man opposite to give a disapproving cough and glare over the top of his paper.

Lizzie looked in dismay as she recognized the Reverend Tiplady.

‘Good morning, Mrs Mason,’ Reverend Tiplady said primly, eyeing them with disfavour. ‘I’m surprised to see you here.’

Molly couldn’t have wished for a worse fellow passenger. It was on the tip of her tongue to demand what he meant by that, knowing full well that he was questioning how a navvy’s
widow could afford the price of the tickets.

Lizzie broke the ice for her mother: ‘It’s my birthday and this is my treat from Mam. We’re only going to Settle, but I can’t wait.’ Eyes wide, she gazed around the
compartment, taking in the polished woodwork, the mirror engraved with the Midland Railway emblem, as her fingers stroked the velvet upholstery.

‘Indeed,’ sniffed the Reverend. ‘I’m travelling to Bradford where I’m needed by my colleagues. This dreadful smallpox is rife there. The curate who was with me for
a short time at Batty Green sadly died of the disease – the last one of his family. Imagine, a whole family wiped out.’

Molly felt the anger rise within her as she listened to the preacher. Now she knew where the disease had come from.

‘No doubt your curate was the one who brought the disease to Batty Green. The doctor has been wondering where Rose Pratt could have caught it. She was cooking and keeping house for you,
wasn’t she? I’d think twice about returning from Bradford, if I were you.’

‘The Lord will look after me and guide me, madam, never fear. He looks after every God-fearing soul.’ With a smirk of condescension, he raised his paper and resumed reading.

Molly’s eyes burned into the paper, fuming at the ignorance of the man. She felt like knocking the paper out of his hands and asking how come the Lord hadn’t done a better job of
guiding Rose Pratt. But this was Lizzie’s big day and she didn’t want to spoil it, so she said nothing.

Lizzie peered out of the window, her nose squashed to the glass. ‘Doesn’t the dale look lovely, Mam. I love living here, with not a mill chimney in sight – just the rolling
fells and the clouds sitting on top of them.’

Molly smiled, sitting back in her seat enjoying the experience swaying with the rattle of the train as it crossed the points on the line. She’d never experienced such comfortable
travel.

There was a whistle from the engine and a judder as the brakes went on, and they peered from the window to see Horton-in-Ribblesdale station coming into view. Doors slammed as the passengers
boarded, and then the stationmaster blew his whistle and the train puffed on its way.

‘You spoke too soon, our Lizzie – look: smoking mill chimneys. Seems they have ’em up here and all.’ Molly pointed at Christie’s cotton mill on the banks of the
River Ribble. ‘They make sheets and towels with cotton from America, they even supply the Queen down in London.’ Molly enjoyed telling Lizzie about her environment; she felt it was
important that she knew about her surroundings. ‘Next stop’s ours, Lizzie. We’d best get ready.’

Molly stood up and Lizzie followed suit. As she tugged on the handle to open the door on to the passageway, she wondered whether she ought to say goodbye to the horrible Reverend Tiplady. After
a moment’s hesitation, she decided against it. He’d had the chance to acknowledge them when they got up from their seats, but he’d kept his newspaper in front of his face. Bugger
him! Ushering Lizzie out of the compartment, she closed the door behind them and then set off unsteadily along the narrow passageway.

‘Mercy me!’ she gasped, glancing out of the window. ‘Don’t you look down, Lizzie Mason – we’re on top of a viaduct!’

‘Oh, Mam!’ said Lizzie, ignoring the advice. ‘We’re ever such a long way up – and this isn’t half as big as the one back at Ribblehead. Just think what
it’ll be like crossing that.’

Overcoming her nerves, Molly peered out over the market town of Settle. The viaduct spanned the winding road that led out of town, completely dwarfing the church that stood alongside it.

Lizzie laughed with delight at the miniature people and horses and carts going about their business in the streets below. She wasn’t the least afraid, and she was enjoying the opportunity
to tease her mother, who had gone white.

The train blew its whistle and pulled in to the station, the huge engine letting out steam as the stationmaster bellowed out the station’s name and the porter ran about helping people with
their luggage and ensuring that those who needed steps had them. Molly and Lizzie gazed in envy at the people alighting from the first-class carriages.

‘One day, Liz, we’ll be able to travel first-class and have hats with feathers in and fancy coats, I promise you. Then we can look down on others like they are muck on our
shoes.’ Molly raised her voice as a well-dressed lady gave her a disdainful stare.

‘I ain’t bothered, Mam. At least I’m here and not dead like Florrie. Come on, let’s see what Settle’s like.’ Lizzie wished her mother wouldn’t be so
outspoken. It was her birthday and her first ride on a train – she wasn’t bothered what anyone else thought of them.

Settle was full of shoppers. Molly had forgotten what it felt like to be amongst ordinary townsfolk. She peered down at the clothes she was wearing; no wonder the snooty woman had given her that
look. She was like something from the back of beyond in her metal carckers on her boots and mud along the bottom of her well-worn skirts. She’d forgotten how a proper woman dressed. Catching
sight of a woman shaking her head in disapproval, Molly adjusted her hair. Her heart sank at the thought of people staring at her and her daughter. It was all right at Batty Green: there, nobody
judged you by the way you dressed. But here in civilization it was a different matter.

Lizzie was oblivious to the stares; she was too busy gazing in shop windows. They walked along Duke Street and both giggled at the pub called The Naked Man with a sign depicting a little naked
man holding what appeared to be a pair of trousers with the date the pub was built on them. They gazed across at the houses built on three levels with a walkway on the top row and shops on the
second row and another row of houses at basement level. Rising behind the buildings was a huge limestone crag that dominated the market square. They could hardly hear themselves think for the
clamour of traders yelling the virtues of their wares.

Exhausted from her shopping, Molly decided it was time for a breather. ‘I can run to a cup of tea, Liz, before we go back.’ She picked up her shopping basket and waited for Lizzie to
answer.

‘Can we, Mam? I know that we’ve not much money, but that’d make the day even more special.’

‘Come on then. I saw a little spot down the road we took from the station. If you’re good, I might even run to a slice of birthday cake.’ Molly put her arm around her daughter.
‘Had a good day then?’

‘Yes, but it isn’t over yet. We’ve the ride back on the train still to go. I can’t wait till tomorrow when I’m back at work – George is going to want to hear
all about it.’ Lizzie grinned.

‘You and that George! Do you never get fed up of him?’

‘No, he’s a good friend and I like him a lot,’ said Lizzie, blushing a deep shade of pink.

‘Well, don’t get hurt, my love. Men break hearts at the toss of a coin.’ She smiled sadly at her grown-up daughter. Having known loss and heartbreak, she wanted only to spare
her daughter the pain.

‘I know, Mam.’

Molly and Lizzie entered the small tearoom and looked around the room. The place was half-f with people chatting and eating. Everyone fell silent when they entered. The owner approached
them.

She looked them both up and down and said, ‘I’m sorry, but we are busy at the moment.’ She’d come across their sort before: navvies’ women who sat down, ordered all
sorts, and then did a runner while her back was turned.

‘All we want is a pot of tea and a cake. You don’t look that busy to me.’ Molly stood her ground.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t serve your sort. I learned my lesson when the railway was being built through here. Now here’s the door.’ The owner threw open the door, the
little bell above it jingling the insult into Molly’s ear.

‘I’ll pay you before we sit down. It’s my lass’s birthday and I’ve promised her a cup of tea before we go back up the dale.’ Molly was surprisingly calm as
she handed the woman the last of her money.

‘All right,’ she sniffed. ‘At least you’re not Irish – they cause no end of bother. I’ll give you what this pays for. You eat it and then you get
out.’

Molly and Lizzie pulled up chairs at the table next to the window and turned to look out on to the street as their fellow diners started to talk in hushed voices.

‘Thanks, Mam,’ Lizzie whispered.

Molly nodded as she ate her cake and drank her tea. Next time they came to Settle, she’d make sure she had a better dress on and good boots, and Lizzie would look like a princess. She
couldn’t do with the shame of being talked about; she had her pride.